


Time To Be Perfect

by ETNMystic



Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [10]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, cw dolls, cw religious fanatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23999770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNMystic/pseuds/ETNMystic
Summary: Amy Smith has decided to give away her old dolls. There's one in particular that gives her a very eerie vibe.And that doll may have more than meets the eye.
Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726699
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Time To Be Perfect

"That's the last of them," Amy Smith panted.

The fifteen year old brushed off her hands as she unloaded the last box of her dolls into the three-season porch. She'd been attached to them for years, but it was time for her to grow up.

The cold October air brushed on her skin like a hand petting a puppy. Amy took one last moment to look at the fifteen boxes of dolls; one for each year of her life. Tomorrow she would go door-to-door and give them all away. Luckily there were many little kids in her neighborhood, so they would all be gone in a flash.

"I'm sorry," she sighed to the box by her feet.  
"But I'm too old for you and I don't have time to play with dolls. Don't be sad. By tomorrow, you'll all have new homes."

Her eyes were caught by a very peculiar doll.

"Especially you, Violetta," she said reaching into the box and pulling her out.

Brought back from Italy by her father, Violetta had been Amy's first doll. But despite this, there was something odd about her. She was dressed in Victorian attire, but it was mixed with a bit of a goth style that made her look creepy. When Amy was very young, she had cried to her father, saying she had been hearing voices. And the peculiar thing was the voices stop when her dad had put Violetta away in the attic.

On top of that, no matter how much Amy played with her when she was younger, Violetta didn't have a tear, tatter, crack, or wrinkle anywhere on her. That was another thing that made her scary; she seemed too perfect, almost like her perfection was hiding something. In fact Amy saw that this was the case for virtually all but two of her dolls.

"It's time for you to go away for good. And about time too."

She began to set Violetta back down when she felt a sharp prick on her thumb.

"Ouch," Amy exclaimed.

She dropped the doll back inside the box and observed her thumb. It was bleeding, but not horribly. She looked down at Violetta. As always there was no sign of any damage done to her, save for a small stain of blood on her right hand. Amy began to reach back down to clean it up when she began to feel a chill.

"It's getting late. I'll just put a bandage on the cut and clean you off tomorrow."

The wind whistled against the trees. Amy went back inside, shutting the porch door behind her.

* * *

Amy awoke to find the weather was as cloudy and windy as the day before. Stretching, she fumbled around her nightstand for her glasses, put them on, and looked at her clock; ten to nine. She hopped out of bed and quickly brushed her brunette locks. She wanted to get a head start on the dolls.

Amy rushed down to the kitchen and skidded to a halt when she saw the

porch door open and swinging in the wind.

"That's strange," she remarked.  
"I swear I left it closed the night before."

She walked out onto the porch and gasped. All fifteen boxes were gone. Amy stood in shock for a few moments. Her first thought was that they had been robbed.

"But who would want to steal a bunch of old dolls?" she asked herself.  
"And why?"

Her second thought was they could've vanished into thin air, but she was too old for that sort of thinking. Neither of the thoughts seemed reasonable to her. After a few moments, she went inside to grab some breakfast. Amy knew she couldn't think straight when she was hungry and she needed to figure out what had happened to the dolls.

She grabbed two slices of bread and plugged in the toaster. As she stuck the two slices of bread inside, her dad walked in.

"Morning, Amy," he grunted.

"Morning, dad," she replied.

He wore a tattered white t-shirt, torn flannel pants, and slippers that looked as thought they would fall apart at any moment.

"How symbolic," she muttered under her breath, referring to her older sister's recent disappearance; Maddie was the one who held the family together, acting as a second mom after Amy's had disappeared so suddenly.

"Dad, did you go out onto the porch after I went to bed last night?"

"No. Why?"

"The boxes are missing and I thought maybe you brought them up to the attic on accident."

"No, I didn't do anything with them."

 _Odd,_ Amy thought.

"Could it have been you?" her dad asked as he searched the pantry for cereal.  
"You do tend to sleepwalk on occasion."

"That was years ago. I got over it when you put Violetta in the attic."

Her father turned around and looked at her in confusion.

"When did I do that?"

"Shortly after Maddie disappeared. Don't you remember?"

He looked at her some more; his confusion turned into fear.

"I haven't touched that doll since I gave it to you as a present."

"Sure you didn't," Amy said with a grin.

"I swear I didn't."

"Come on, dad," Amy scoffed as she shook her head.  
"Do you really expect me to believe that she just got up from her place on the shelf one evening and put herself in the attic?"

"I don't know, but all I know is after I gave it to you, I never touched it. Hey, can you grab the paper please? I forgot to bring it inside yesterday."

"Sure thing."

Amy opened the front door. A gust of wind blew her hair in her face. Brushing it behind her ear, Amy ran over to the mailbox and snatched the paper from the slot below the black, metallic box. She wasn't sure why, but ever since they moved there, that mailbox was the one thing that gave Amy the creeps.

As she grabbed the paper, her heart jumped in her chest. The paper was heavier than usual this morning. Rolling the rubber band off, Amy stared in surprise at what she saw.

Nicely packaged in decorative gift wrap was a small box, about the size of a porcelain doll. On the front, it read:

 _"Addressed to Miss Amy Marilyn Smith. Handle with care"_ in fancy, flowing calligraphy.

She stared at it in puzzlement.

"I never ordered anything," she remarked.

After a few moments of staring, she placed it on the ground and knelt beside it. Carefully, she tore away the wrapping and lift open the lid of the box. There was no doll inside. Instead there lay a pair of freshly-pressed, perfectly-white socks with ruffles at the top, perfectly pressed, white, silk gloves along with perfectly-polished, black, dress shoes and perfectly pink, child-like hair ribbons. In the center of it all lay a perfectly designed pink dress aligned to perfection with white lace at the neck, rim, and sleeves. On its chest, there was a name sewn in perfectly white calligraphy; Amy. All of the clothes were doll-sized and they were all perfectly aligned, as if they hadn't been jostled around by any sort of mailman or delivery truck.

Cautiously she picked up the dress to find a perfectly white ribbon sitting at the bottom. Somehow it hadn't been wrinkled by the dress or any of the other clothes in the slightest.

It seemed all too perfect to Amy.

"Perfectly creepy," she remarked as she placed the dress back inside.

There was no return address or note included. Who on earth would send this to her she didn't want to know. All of a sudden, Amy heard a wail of despair echo through the air. Shivering, she picked up the newspaper and rushed inside.

* * *

That afternoon Amy's dad left to go grocery shopping, leaving her by herself. She was focusing on her homework when she heard thumping coming from the floor below. She tried to ignore it, but the feeling of curiosity persisted until she could bare it no longer. She rushed downstairs and found that the porch door had been closed. Amy cautiously walked over to it. Trembling she grabbed the handle and flung it open. Peeking through the doorway, she gasped at the sight.

All fifteen of her boxes sat there as if they had never disappeared. Hesitantly Amy peeked inside the boxes. The dolls were there exactly how Amy had left them the night before. It wasn't until she peeked into Violetta's box that the situation turned from creepy to completely scary.

In the box was an extra doll. This one was well-groomed and well-dressed to perfection like the others, except it was more petite and tiny. In her hand was a small, pink purse and she was smiling. But it made Amy feel uncomfortable as opposed to happy. The smile seemed forced and full of fear, as if it were a cry for help.

Something about this doll seemed familiar to Amy, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

She was so caught up in the doll that she didn't hear someone come up behind her.

"Amy?" a voice asked.

Amy gave a shriek and jumped. Whirling around she found her friend Lydia dressed in casual attire which matched her dirty blonde hair and blueish-eyes. Amy gave a sigh of relief.

"Lydia, thank God," she exclaimed.  
"It's nice to see someone that isn't perfect."

Lydia gave her a look of confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

Amy opened her mouth to tell her, but decided not to. Lydia'd think she was crazy.

"Nothing," she sighed.

"Sure, it's nothing," Lydia scoffed.

"I'm serious!"

"Whatever. Anyway, there's something I need to tell you."

"Yeah?"

Lydia gave a sigh.

"You know that lady in our area? The one who always spoils her little girls?"

"Mrs. Pemenbriar?"

"That's the one."

"What about her?"

There was a moment of silence as Lydia collected her thoughts.

"I was babysitting her girls yesterday and I had to leave early because I had to go out to eat with my family. Earlier today, I went to collect my pay and Mrs. Pemenbriar wouldn't answer."

"Maybe she wasn't home?"

"Oh, she was home alright. She's down there crying like crazy."

"Oh my God! Is she okay? What happened?" Amy gasped.

"I don't know. All I heard was her crying and moaning something. It sounded like she was saying, 'It was the doll! It took Rosie.' Crazy old bat."

The doll?

"Was there anything else weird?"

Lydia shrugged.

"Nothing in particular. Except there were boxes of dolls scattered all around the front yard. They actually looked a lot like your dolls."

"Around what time did you arrive there?"

"Since when did you become the new Sherlock Holmes?"

"Just answer me."

Lydia paused to collect her thought some more.

"Maybe just a little after nine this morning."

"That was only a little after---"

She paused.

"A little after what, Amy?"

Amy shook her head.

"It's nothing."

"Yeah right," Lydia scoffed as she glanced down at the box beside Amy's feet.  
"I thought you were giving these away today."

She kneeled down beside it and peeked in.

"Yeah, but then things happened."

"What kinds of things?" Lydia asked as she looked through the box.

There was one doll that caught her eye. She picked it up and examined it further.

"I didn't know you had a doll of Rosie Pemenbriar."

Amy's heart jumped in fright.

"I do?" she asked as she snatched it from Lydia.

"They're your dolls. You should know."

"Yeah, but this one isn't mine."

"Who's is it?"

Amy stared at the doll in shock.

"No clue."

"Are you sure it isn't yours? Maybe you missed it when you were packing them up."

"Why would I miss any of them?" Amy asked as she dropped the doll back in the box.

"Maybe you stayed up late Tuesday night and your brain wasn't working too well yesterday. It is fall break after all."

"No, I'm sure I counted them all. All fifteen boxes."

"Okay. Say, is it okay if I crash here for a while?"

"Yeah, I guess. My dad's not home."

Amy peeked inside the kitchen at the clock above the stove.

"Though he should've been home by now. The grocery store's not that far from here."

"Amy," Lydia called nervously.  
"You did say you counted fifteen boxes of dolls, right?"

"Yeah. Why?" she asked coming back onto the porch.

She gasped at the sight. All fifteen boxes had disappeared once again.

"Lydia, what did you do with them?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"I swear. Are you sure they weren't magic boxes of dolls that disappear into thin air?"

"No, they're not alive. Are you sure you didn't move them?"

"No, I think it would've taken me much longer to move all fifteen boxes out. Plus you would've heard me."

Amy's heart pounded.

"But there's no other explanation. Someone must've touched them."

Suddenly Lydia gave a cry of pain.

"What's wrong?" Amy asked worried.

"It's my thumb," Lydia cried holding up a bandaged thumb.

"What happened?"

"Don't you remember? I was helping you bring down one of the boxes and I got pricked by one of the dolls."

"Which one?"

"Violetta, I think."

Amy gasped in fright.

"But that was what happened to me just last night."

Suddenly there was another cry of sadness.

"It's that old bat Pemenbriar again," Lydia scoffed.

"Oh, don't be so mean about her," Amy sighed.  
"Her daughter Rosie just went missing. Such a shame too. You know, I actually decided to give her one of my dolls. I also gave Lily and Daisy a doll each as well. They were so ecstatic. I don't know why. I mean, their mom could've bought the same dolls at any shop nearby."

All of a sudden, Lydia gave a gasp of fright.

"You said you gave them each one of your dolls?"

"Yeah. Why?"

It didn't seem to kick in right away, but then she realized why Lydia was so afraid. And now Amy was afraid too. Instinctively she grabbed Lydia's hand and rushed out of the house.

* * *

The sky was turning dark as the two rushed to the Pemenbriars. Outside on the front lawn, they found the girls' parents. Mrs. Pemenbriar was crying and her husband was attempting to comfort her.

"Mr and Mrs. Pemenbriar, what's wrong?" Lydia asked concerned.

There was no reply from Mrs. Pemenbriar, save for a hoarse cry of despair.

"Lily and Daisy just went missing," Mr. Pemenbriar answered.

"It was the dolls, I tell you!" Mrs. Pemenbriar cried out.  
"Those demented spawns of hell took our precious flowers!"

"Did you notice anything strange before they disappeared?"

Mr. Pemenbriar thought for a moment.

"Well, before they went missing, each of them complained about being pricked after holding their dolls. They also each got a box with a doll's outfit inside. Then I remember Daisy fell on the concrete and instead of scratches, she had cracks on her body."

Cracks? Amy and Lydia looked at each other in worry.

"What dolls are you referring to?" Amy asked.

"Why, the ones you gave them, of course. They never touched any other doll after you gave them away."

Mrs. Pemenbriar looked up at Amy in anger.

"Devil's child!" she screeched.  
"That demon girl took away my flowers."

In a mix of anger and fear, she pulled out a rosary and flashed it at Amy.

"Go back to the realm of the damned, devil child!" she screeched.

"Linda, it's okay. I'm sure Amy had nothing to do with this."

"Demon spawn! Child of the damned," she kept shrieking.

"I swear, I didn't take them," Amy panted.

"Spawn of Satan! Bring my flowers back from hell!"

Mrs. Pemenbriar swung a fist at Amy, who just barely backed away in time. Lydia grabbed her hand and they ran back to the house. As they made their way up the front steps, the two of them tripped and fell with a loud thud. As she fell, Amy stumbled backwards, hitting the back of her head. Her glasses were thrown off of her face. Lydia picked her up and helped Amy inside as her world turned dark.

* * *

It took sometime before Amy became fully conscious. She blinked her eyes to adjust to the light.

"You okay?" Lydia asked as she sat beside her, handing Amy her glasses.

Amy nodded, still in shock from Mrs. Pemenbriar's accusations, as she put the glasses on.

"That was quite an adventure, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Lydia agreed.  
"I'll go get an ice pack."

Lydia head into the kitchen and came back with an ice pack. Suddenly she skidded to a halt and dropped the pack on the floor with a gasp.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked concerned.

"Of course I'm sure," Amy answered.  
"Why?"

"Your legs don't look so good. Neither does your neck."

"What do you mean?"

Amy looked down at her legs. Her shorts had been tattered, but that wasn't what shocked her. Her legs didn't have any scrapes. Instead her legs had several blueish, intricate lines running through them.

"That's a lot of blood veins," she remarked shivering.

She ran her finger over them, but she didn't feel skin. In its place was the sensation of smooth porcelain.

"Oh my God!" she yelled in fright.  
"And my neck?"

"It's cracked as well."

"Lydia," Amy gasped.  
"Lydia, your legs. Look at your legs."

Lydia looked down and shrieked.

"What the hell is going on?" she squeaked.

"I don't know," Amy gulped.

"If this is some sort of joke, it's not funny."

"How would it be a joke? I doubt any person we know could create cracks in our legs."

"Amy, I think at this point, we may want to ask ourselves if it's even a person who's doing all this."

"But there's no other explanation. It has to be a person doing this."

Suddenly Amy remembered.

"You got pricked by one of my dolls, right?"

Lydia nodded.

"And I did as well. And so did Daisy. And Rosie. And Lily. And before those three disappeared, they all had cracked legs."

Lydia's eyes grew wide.

"No. You aren't suggesting---?"

Suddenly the phone rang. Lydia rushed to pick it up.

"Hello?"

There was no reply.

"Hello?"

 _"Amy,"_ it growled.

Trembling Lydia handed the phone to Amy.

"Hello?" she asked.

For a moment or two, only silence replied. Then out of the blue came the sound of a static demon.

"If this is some sort of prank, this phone has caller ID. I'll call the police on you!"

The dial tone followed immediately. Angered and, frankly quite at her wits' end, Amy checked the caller history, but was shocked to find this call hadn't been recorded.

"What on earth is going on?"

She headed back to the living room.

"That was weird, huh Lydia?"

There was no answer.

"Lydia?”

All of a sudden, she heard the clink of porcelain hit the floor near her feet. She looked down and gasped to find that Lydia was no longer there. In her place, with exact likeness but in a dress and hair bows, was a doll.

"Oh my God," she gasped.  
"I have to do something. But what?"

At that moment, the lights began to flicker and dim. A chill rushed through Amy's spine.

"Open up, ye devil's advocate!" yelled a voice from outside.

Amy carefully peeked through the window. It was Mrs. Pemenbriar supported by a mob with torches and pitchforks. Fairly cliché, but nevertheless frightening. The mob shouted and cursed to Amy, calling her obtrusively degrading and devilish things.

Amy quickly flipped the lock and ran back to the doll only to find a terrible sight.

A group of dolls with glowing red eyes had gathered around her and began to chant sacrilegious and demonic words.

One of the dolls took out a scalpel and a scoop. The scalpel was inserted into the doll's eye on the edge. Next the scalpel was drawn around the eye and removed. Then the doll scooped out the eye. The doll began to bleed. But instead of the blood dripping from her, the blood stayed in her eyes.

Amy's stomach began to churn. It was a sight that she could not stand; and yet it was also one she could not take her eyes from.

"What the hell are you doing to her?" she exclaimed without hesitating.

The doll who had removed the eyes turned to face Amy and grinned. At this Amy gasped. It was the very doll that Amy could not get rid of; the one whose aura never failed to give her nightmares.

“No…..not you….” Amy gasped in fright.

"Well, there you are," Violetta purred.  
"And just in time."

"What are you doing to my best friend?"

"She's becoming part of the collective as the others have; those Pemenbriar girls, your sister, your mother, your father---"

"So that's where she went! You killed her," Amy spat in horror.

"We didn't kill her exactly," Violetta corrected her.  
"We only killed her humanness, her humanity. Just as we shall do to yours.”

"But why?"

"Because," Violetta explained as if she had told Amy a million times before.  
"Dolls have no flaws in them. Mankind is flawed. This cult is on a mission to eliminate the flaws of mankind and create a world of pure perfection."

"So you're going to turn everyone into a doll, is that it?" Amy growled venomously.

"Not everyone. Only a special few. The rest of the world shall become our slaves once we take over."

"Not if I have anything to say about it!"

"You won't in about ten seconds. Look at yourself."

Amy looked down and gasped in horror. Her whole body was beginning to change. Her arms were turning into porcelain; her clothes were changing into the girly dress she found in the mailbox. Her mind was beginning to crave perfection just as Violetta’s mind was. Resisting only made it worse and soon Amy began to cave in.

"Time to be perfect, Amy," Violetta hissed as her world began to fade into darkness and silence.


End file.
